


Coaching

by HouDalWas



Series: Nuggetverse [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouDalWas/pseuds/HouDalWas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashlyn & Ali enjoy coaching their daughter's team, but sometimes the line between a parent & a coach is a little blurry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coaching

Watching Ali watch soccer is always amusing.

Watching Ali play soccer is to see beauty in motion.

Watching Ali coach soccer, though, is another thing entirely.

Technically they’re co-coaches, but while she does her fair share during practice, Ashlyn is happy to let Ali take the lead during matches. For her part, Ali is content to do just that, often not so subtly reminding Ashlyn as to why.

(“It was one time!” Ashlyn always insists when reminded of her infamous referee altercation. “And he had it coming!”

“Yes, but did you have to ask him how many gold medals he had won?” Ali asks in exasperation.)

So during matches Ashlyn stands back, making sure everyone is drinking enough water, conferring on sub decisions, taking notes, and maybe occasionally noticing out of the corner of her eye how hot her wife is as she paces up and down the sidelines, shouting encouragement to their players.

Occasionally.

“We’re up by three,” Ashlyn reminds her.

“Yes, we are,” is Ali’s distracted reply. “Pass … pass it … PASS THE BALL, JENNA!”

“Time to sub in McKenna, I think.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ali offers her a quick flash of that smile that still makes Ashlyn’s heart beat faster. “And maybe Ryan.”

Ashlyn sets the two girls to warming up on the sidelines and sends them in at the 60th minute. Ellie looks relieved after playing for an hour under the hot Florida sun, but Emma can barely bring herself to give McKenna a high five as she jogs off and completely ignores her mothers.

“Not now,” Ali murmurs, placing a restraining hand on Ashlyn’s shoulder as the blonde prepares to charge after their sulking eldest daughter.

She’s right, of course, and Ashlyn only allows herself a glance to make sure Emma has some Gatorade before she kneels in front of Ellie, congratulating her on a great game.

They win, of course, but Ashlyn can see that Ali’s smile doesn’t extend to her eyes as they shake hands with the other coaches, hiding the same anger that Ashlyn feels. But even nine years after their retirements, there are still autographs to sign and pictures to pose for and then there’s the celebratory team pizza dinner. It’s late by the time they drop off Jenna and pick up the other kids from Chris’.

“Mama!” Tyler, their youngest, shouts, running out the front door. At five, he is a blond ball of energy, and Ashlyn isn’t surprised to see him still awake. All boy, he is go go go until he crashes, a dimple playing in and out of his cheek when he smiles in his sleep.

“Hey, buddy!” She swings him in the air. “Did you have fun terrorizing Uncle Chris?”

“Yes! We went to the beach and made sand castles and I stomped them down and then we had ice cream after dinner!”

“Did you?” Ali walks up behind her, giving Tyler a kiss before turning her smile on Chris. “That was so, so nice of Uncle Chris to do right before your bedtime!”

“Hey, what are uncles for?”

Ali rolls her eyes. “You and Kyle are so much alike sometimes.”

“I knew I always liked him. Hey, where’s my favorite Emma hiding? Don’t tell me you lost.”

“No, of course not. She’s in the car, being … twelve.” Ali sighs but refrains from saying further as another small Krieger-Harris slinks out of the doorway.

Eight-year-old Kenzie is considerably more tired than her brother. She shares the famous Krieger megawatt smile, nose crinkle, and long dark hair with her mother and sister, but otherwise she is Ashlyn to the core, right down to the dapper suit she insisted on wearing to Crystal’s wedding last year. She makes a face at her mother when Ashlyn tugs on her backwards snapback.

“Ready, kiddo?” She nods, leaning against her, and Ashlyn thanks her brother, corralling both kids into the SUV.

Ali kisses his cheek. “Thanks, Chris. We owe you one.”

“No problem. And tell Emma I’m very hurt she didn’t come say hi to me!” he calls after.

“Oh, I have many things I’m going to tell that girl,” Ali mutters under her breath.

She and Ashlyn exchange a look that doesn’t bode well for the twelve-year-old, but they don’t say anything more, knowing Kenzie’s keen ears are perked up, eager for ammunition against her big sister.

“Kenzie, bed!” Ali calls while they unload in their garage, handing off a sleeping Tyler to Ashlyn. “No arguing, please. And you, young lady –“

(Inwardly Ashlyn cringes; that phrase reminds her far too much of her own mother, but it rolls off Ali’s tongue as easily as German still does.)

“- go to your room and wait there. And take your stuff!”

Emma huffs and drags her gear with her. Ashlyn intercepts her with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, okay?”

She’s rewarded with an eye roll, and as she shifts Tyler, she wonders if it was really necessary that Emma inherited all of Ali’s stubbornness and tendency to pout along with her laugh and killer first touch.

(Mama Deb gets a kick out of it, commiserating with her daughter on her frequent trips from Miami. “I was never this difficult. I was the good one,” Ali likes to grouse, and Deb just laughs.)

Ashlyn hears bits and pieces of their argument while she tucks Tyler in and checks on Kenzie, but only just. Ali’s as disciplined a parent as she is on the pitch, nearly always managing to keep her temper, something Ashlyn has always struggled with. And it’s effective.

Usually.

“I swear to God, Ash, I don’t think she and I both are going to survive puberty,” Ali snaps when they meet in the hall. “I just … ugh. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Want me to join you?” Ashlyn is quick to respond in a low voice. With three kids, Ali’s broadcasting gigs, and Ashlyn’s own responsibilities, alone time is a rare as it once was when they were surrounded by teammates in camp.

A gleam appears in Ali’s brown eyes, but they’re interrupted by the conveniently timed opening of a bedroom door.

“I’m just going to get water,” Emma mumbles, her eyes fixed on the floor. “Or am I benched in my room, too?”

Neither mother chooses to respond, and when she disappears down the stairs, Ashlyn gives Ali a peck. “Take a rain check on the shower, honey? I’m going to strangle your firstborn.”

“She’s your child right now.”

“Really, Alex? Really? She’s your damn clone.”

The look Ali gives her isn’t supposed to make Ashlyn laugh, but it does, so she gives her another kiss to make up for it. And another, and another, until she forces herself to pull away, and the little groan Ali makes nearly has Ashlyn turning around as she jogs down the stairs.

“Wait, kiddo. C’mere.” Ashlyn catches Emma at the foot of the stairs and turns her around, steering her into their living room.

The house has gotten filled with pictures in the thirteen years since they built it, but there’s a particular one Ashlyn seeks. It sits on the corner of the mantle amongst baby pictures and their wedding portrait and the most recent family photograph.

She wraps both arms around her daughter’s shoulders and stands behind her, resting her chin on Emma’s forehead. The growth spurts have already begun, and she’s going to miss the little girl Emma once was.

“Do you know what that picture is from?”

“Duh. It’s your first World Cup win.”

All the kids are well versed in their moms’ storied careers and can rattle off stats like seasoned ESPN broadcasters. They’ve grown up in a house where gold medals are commonplace, where it’s normal to get stopped in the mall for a picture, and, in Emma’s case, where she was raised nearly as much by her ‘aunts’ on the road as by her parents at home in her first three years of life.

Ashlyn remembers the moment captured in the picture like it was yesterday, although she hadn’t been aware it was caught on film for weeks. They’d won, and Ali, strong, brave, beautiful Ali was crying, and a beaming Ashlyn held Ali’s face in her hands. She’d never wanted to kiss her on the field more in her life.

She kissed her afterward of course, after she unceremoniously kicked Alex out of their hotel room, and broke all the team rules about roommates and sex and drinking (and possibly some others because it was a hell of a wild night), but that is not the story she intends to share.

“Do you know how many minutes I played in that Cup?”

“None.”

“And in the Rio Olympics after that?”

“None.”

“And in France after we had you?”

“None.”

“Exactly. I never played a minute in a World Cup, and I never will. You don’t think that sucked? Don’t tell Mom I said suck. But you don’t think sometimes I wished Hope would drop off the face of the planet? Game after game after game, on the bench.”

“But you played in Tokyo, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

It had taken some pleading by Ali to keep her from retiring after Rio and a bad fall that aggravated Jane Campbell’s lingering shoulder injury in CONCACAF qualifying before Tokyo to finally give Ashlyn the chance to wear the number one for the US, at 35.

“So the next time you’re told to sit down after you’ve scored two goals, think about sitting out for an entire tournament. Or ask your mom about watching your entire team go to London without you because of a bad tackle. Or ask Whitney what it’s like when people don’t even remember you were on the team.”

“I get it, Mom! Geez.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She spins Emma around to face her, gazing intently into her brown eyes. Ashlyn remembers clearly the first time she saw those eyes – she’d been terrified, sure she was going to drop her, she wouldn’t be able to make her stop crying, she wouldn’t feel like a mom because Emma hadn’t come from her body – and then Emma had opened her eyes, and all was right in the world.

(Ashlyn had also burst into tears, startling the newborn, and Ali, fresh from labor, half drugged and hormones running wild, started crying at the two of them, so a nurse had come running into the room, convinced something terrible had happened.)

“Listen, kiddo. I love you, ya know? You’re my favorite player on that field, and I think you’re the best forward I’ve seen since Alex Morgan. But you’re part of a team, and that means sometimes you gotta do things you don’t want, and you have to give other players a chance.”

Emma’s shoulders slump, and Ashlyn has to stop a smile of satisfaction from crossing her face. She has her. Slowly she turns her daughter, throwing an arm over her shoulders as they trudge back toward the staircase.

“Yeah, I know. But I’m better than McKenna.”

“I know that, sweetie, and so does Mom. But what happens to the team if our star forward gets hurt, and no one else has gotten any minutes? You want your team to lose if you’re not on the field?”

“No!”

“Alright. So next time you’re substituted, you’re gonna take it like a woman, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Emma mumbles.

“That’s my girl. Hey, just be glad you’re a field player. All sorts of chances for you guys. I used to wonder why I’d ever chosen to be a goalkeeper.”

Emma grins up at her. “Mom says it’s so you can make ‘I’m a keeper’ jokes.”

Ashlyn snorts. “Yeah, well, that’s probably true.”

When they reach Emma’s bedroom, Ashlyn pulls her in for a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I love you, you little nugget.”

“Yeah, Mom, I love you too.”

“Shower and bed, okay? I want your lights off in half an hour.”

She hugs her one last time and watches until she shuts the bathroom door behind her before slipping into her own bedroom, pleasantly surprised to find Ali still awake, lounging on their bed and scrolling through her phone in what appears to be nothing but a bathrobe.

She climbs toward her from the foot of the bed, nuzzling her neck. “Mmm, you smell clean.”

Ali half-heartedly tries to push her away. “You definitely do not.”

“Why bother getting clean when I’m about to get so dirty?”

“You’ve been using that line for almost twenty years.”

“I’ve been using it longer than that.” She regrets that immediately when Ali gives her a look. “I mean, twenty years? Has it been that long? Feels like we’re still on our honeymoon.”

“Ha.” Ali allows Ashlyn to slip an arm behind her, leaning into her wife’s embrace. “Not on nights like tonight. I cannot believe that girl! Did we really raise someone that spoiled?”

Ashlyn pulls Ali closer, the scent of Ali’s hair conditioner filling her nostrils. “Nah. She just had a bad moment. I gave her a little bit of a guilt trip downstairs. I think she’ll be fine.”

“Good, because HAO called this morning. Apparently Emma’s name is being tossed around over at the Development Academy. She thinks she’ll be called up for a U-14 camp soon.”

Ashlyn is quiet for so long that Ali finally sits up on one elbow to look at her. “Baby? This isn’t really a surprise, is it? ODP has been on the table for a while. This is the next step.”

Ashlyn lets out her breath slowly. “I know, it’s just – don’t take this the wrong way, Alex, but you weren’t a name when you were a teenager. You quit ODP, you did your own thing, and obviously it was the right thing for you. Your career choices have always been right. But I was. You know how many people told me I was the next big thing? Over and over, how good I was. And we were talking about it downstairs, and – God, Alex, I cannot stand the thought of our daughter having the same disappointment. Injuries, and Hope, and just … no.”

“Damn, Ash, how’s that glass half empty working out for you?” Ali says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You don’t know that’s going to happen to her. She wants to play soccer, and this is what she needs to get better. Plus, she’s a damn good forward, and she’s outgrown her age group.”

“She is a good forward.”

“She better be. We’ve taught her every trick of a defender and move of a goalkeeper. She’s going to kick the ass of that little Hollins up in Jersey.”

Ashlyn chuckles. “So competitive, babe.”

“You always say that.”

“Well, I always mean it.”

“Yeah?” Ali rolls on top of her, bending to nibble at her ear while Ashlyn’s hands discover she is, indeed, wearing nothing underneath her bathrobe. “You weren’t complaining about how competitive I was last night.”

“That’s because I – mmm – was the clear winner.”

Ali’s laugh is low and throaty, and it makes Ashlyn swallow. “Oh, really? Does that mean you owe me?”

“Maybe, but –“ She grabs Ali’s waist and flips them, taking the opportunity to sit up and yank her shirt off. “I’m always a winner with you, Princess.”

Ali’s laugh is louder this time, but she cuts off with a gasp when Ashlyn proceeds to give her what she’s owed. Ali doesn’t stay quiet for long, though, never does, and soon enough she’s giving her wife all sorts of instructions.

Ashlyn really loves it when Ali coaches.


End file.
